After My Alpha Framed Me as a Rogue

By the third day, the poison in the IV had drained the last warmth from my blood.

My silver wolf was curled so tightly under my ribs that I couldn't feel her breath anymore. She was slipping away into the gray void of permanent dormancy. Once she closed her eyes for good, Adaline Warren would cease to exist.

*Fight,* I told myself. But my fingers wouldn't even twitch against the cold iron of the cot.

Drifting between consciousness and darkness, a memory drifted up through the haze. White snow. A howling mountain gale. Years ago, during a brutal Cascade blizzard, I had dragged a bloodied stranger through the drifts, keeping him alive with the heat of my own body before his people arrived. I had never known his name. But in that frozen dark, his scent had burned into my soul—dark cedar, crushed frost, and crackling lightning.

With the absolute last ember of my wolf's power, I pulled that memory tight. I didn't think. I just reached through the unseen ether, casting a desperate, ragged mind-link into the void.

*Help me.*

The cry tore across hundreds of miles of mountains and forests.

And then, impossibly, it hit something.

A shockwave ripped back through the link, striking my mind with the force of an avalanche. Through the psychic thread, I heard the sudden, violent splinter of solid mahogany—a heavy conference table snapping in two under bare hands. Then, a roar echoed directly into my skull. It wasn't the howl of an ordinary alpha. It was the volcanic, earth-shaking bellow of an ancient Lycan beast.

*Winter pine and white jasmine,* a deep, furious voice thundered through my dying consciousness. *Mine.*

The bond blazed so hot it nearly scorched my brain. Then my vision went black.

***

The compound shook.

A muffled explosion jolted me back to consciousness. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, buzzing frantically before dying completely, leaving the cell bathed in the dull red glow of emergency strobes.

Screams erupted down the hall.

Heavy gunfire rattled, sharp and frantic, only to be cut short by wet, brutal snaps. Through the low vent, the scent of fresh pine needles and ozone obliterated the stench of bleach.

Footsteps pounded outside my door.

"The outer fence is gone!" a mercenary shrieked. "It's not an allied pack! It's a Lycan—he tore the armored gate off the wall!"

Over the compound’s intercom, an unfamiliar voice crackled to life—calm, clipped, and icy. "All communication lines are jammed under Lycan Council authority," the man announced. "Every server is being cloned. Drop your weapons and step away, or you will be executed on sight."

A split second later, the steel door of my cell didn't just unlatch. It bent outward with a deafening groan, the deadbolts shearing like twigs, and was thrown violently across the room.

The doorway was filled with darkness.

A towering beast stood in the opening, over nine feet of pure, terrifying Lycan muscle. Midnight-black fur, claws like daggers, and eyes blazing with molten gold. The raw, suffocating pressure of his royal aura made the concrete walls shudder. Even the air in the room grew too heavy to breathe.

The beast looked at me. He saw the iron chains pinning my wrists, the needle taped to my bruised arm, and my gray, lifeless skin.

A low, guttural snarl vibrated through his chest—a sound of absolute, unbridled heartbreak and killing rage.

Right before my eyes, the beast shrank, the bones shifting and muscles realigning in fluid silence. A man stepped forward into the red light. Broad-shouldered, breathtakingly sharp-featured, dressed in dark tactical gear stained with rogue blood.

Prince Sutton Carter.

He didn't speak. He crossed the floor in two strides and fell to his knees beside my cot. His bare hands gripped the heavy iron cuffs and tore them apart like wet paper. Then, with terrifying gentleness, he slid the needle out of my vein and tossed the IV bag against the wall, shattering the plastic.

"I've got you," he whispered. His voice was rough, barely holding back the beast beneath his skin.

He slid an arm beneath my knees and pulled me up against his chest.

The instant my bare skin touched his neck, an electric shock surged through my body. It was a tidal wave of pure, golden fire. The fated mate bond ignited with a ferocity that stole what little air I had left. His Lycan wrapped around my shivering silver wolf, flooding her withered spirit with warmth, life, and an all-consuming possessiveness.

*I found you,* his voice rang through my soul, fierce and steady. *You are not dying today.*

My wolf gasped inside me, lifting her head for the first time in days.

Footsteps halted at the shattered doorway. Victor Hale stood there, flanked by two heavily armed Lycan royal guards, his hands raised in complete surrender. Behind them, a sharp-eyed Beta with a tablet tucked under his arm—Rex—began tagging the room's surveillance feeds.

"I didn't know who she was, Your Highness," Victor said, his flat voice finally carrying a tremble. He reached slowly into his vest, pulling out a sealed leather folder, and set it on the ground. "Everything is in there. The transfer order was signed by Beta Caiden Martin of the Ironwood Pack. The payment came directly from Alpha Edison Brooks's personal account."

Sutton didn't even look at him. His eyes remained locked on my face, drinking in every cut, every bruise, every shuttered breath.

"Keep the records," Sutton ordered quietly, his tone sending a chill through the air. "They will read them before the Council when I tear their titles from their bleeding throats."

He pulled his heavy wool coat around my shoulders, tucking my face into the crook of his neck. Surrounded by the scent of frost, cedar, and safety, I let my eyes close, knowing the nightmare was finally over—and the reckoning had just begun.